somewhere in the flames
by naojv
Summary: He catches her, literally, and the world is quiet and it's loud and it's on fire for the seven seconds he has his arm hooked around her waist. They both pretend they don't realize she could've easily regained her balance in five.


She'd love to be that girl (_his girl, _the _girl) _but fate or something equally cruel has other ideas, and she can't do anything about it.

* * *

She catches him watching her from across the room, and for the one moment that their eyes are connected, she _is that girl_. Those **blue**_blue_blue eyes are kind and loving and perfect and she has all she ever wanted (_needed_) staring right at her. But then one of them looks away, or maybe both of them do, and the truth sinks in. There is no perfection here.

* * *

He catches her, literally, and the world is quiet and it's loud and it's _on fire _for the seven seconds he has his arm hooked around her waist. They both pretend they don't realize she could've easily regained her balance in five (_or four, three, two or one_) and instead decide to savorthelittlethings.

He brushes a strand of hair away from her face, and for a moment they're dancing in the flames (_they don't even mind the burn_), but then he walks away and maybe it _never-even-happened._

_

* * *

_

She doesn't know how to help. She does know how to drink.

The room is spinning and it just _keeps _spinning, so she thinks that it'd be a wise decision to take a seat in one of the more stationary chairs (_where is she, anyway?_). Unfortunately, the chairs are too fast for her (_or is she moving in s.l.o.w. m.o.t.i.o.n. again?_), so she picks out a nice, comfy looking spot on the carpet and drops to the floor as gracefully as she can.

Which, of course, isn't very graceful at all.

For a second she's dead, _way _too dead to be alive - but then someone is lifting her up (_toohightoohigh but not really high at all_) and What?Sheisonacouch? before she can even pass out. She's looking at the ocean, but there's two of them (_and all of a sudden it's: _I am _way _too drunk to be dead), and then she's drifting and drowning and swimming in sleep.

She's sees things a little more clearly in the morning, but she feels far_far _from the ocean.

* * *

He's asking her _where have you been? _and _do you want to get yourself killed? _but she's not hearing any of it. This is the end, the really-real-end, and there is _nothing _she can do about it. The sun will set and the moon will rise and she nor he nor anyone else that matters will see it. They'll all disappear somewhere along the way.

She wants to spend that day like it's the last day (_because it _is _the last day_) but he won't let her. He plans and organizes and there-will-be-no-giving-up (_she very-much-certainly-has already). _

The light disappears beneath the horizon and there's pounding on the door and a window-or-a-hundred shatter and _this-is-it this-is-it this-is-it _until she opens her eyes and the light is back over the horizon again.

He's there and he's okay and she's _so glad _but no matter how much she wants to be that girl for him, she just can't, and she just _isn't, _so she moves out of his arms and into his brother's and it feels right (_and so wrongwrongwrong). _

He helps her friend (who gives him _brain aneurisms_)stand up rather than watch them.

* * *

She can see him sitting there, _there_, where he always is, but it's not right. The fire is out, his glass is empty (_he may as well have no glass at all_) and the room is warm but the air feels like ice on her skin and hiseyesarefrozenover. She says his name but it's not what he wants to hear and no matter _how much _she wants to tell him (_tell him __it__, __**that, **__e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g._) over-and-over-and-over, she can't. She won't lie to him.

A minute later he is alone and she is alone and he's still staring into nothing and she's still trying to give him something to look at (_but she can't force feelings, even on herself_). This one time, she wishes she were more like her doppelganger after all.

Irony twists like a knife.

* * *

The next time she sees him is Family Night, and he grins and smirks and waggles his eyebrows because pretending everything is alright is what he does. What _they _do. He hands her a dish to dry off but moves before his fingers can brush hers.

She regrets that all she can do is _almost _love him_._


End file.
